


Letters Home

by foxysquid



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Gen, Justice, Letters, Military, Principled idiots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-06
Updated: 2014-07-06
Packaged: 2018-02-07 17:43:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1908033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxysquid/pseuds/foxysquid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dutiful son Marlowe needs to reply to his mother's letter, but what can he say about his new life in the Military Police?  He wants to tell her the truth, but it isn't pretty...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Letters Home

Marlowe frowned down at the paper before him, eying the words he'd written critically:

_Dear Mother,_

_Thank you for your letter--_

He'd managed the salutation, but not so much as a single sentence. "Thank you for your letter" might have counted as a sentence, but he was thinking of following it up with another phrase, possibly "which I very much enjoyed receiving" or "which you so thoughtfully sent". Yet he had not written either of those phrases, because he suddenly found himself stymied. 

He was rarely at a loss for words, but he found it difficult to continue. The problem was, what was he supposed to write to his mother? She had expressed her happiness and pride, and had asked him about his duties in the Military Police, but there was no satisfactory answer to give her. _Dear Mother, my comrades are scum, but someday I'll make them face justice._ That would have been the truth, but he couldn't very well write it in a letter. Not only would his mother not appreciate the sentiment, but the interception of such a letter would be very inconvenient for him and wouldn't exactly further his career.

_Dear Mother, my superiors are lazy and incompetent, and I'm forced to do all of their work as well as any number of menial chores that do nothing to help the people._

No, he couldn't tell her the truth, but he hated the thought of telling her a lie. She was relieved that he'd joined the Military Police and not the Survey Corps, that he'd be kept from the risk of being killed by titans. What mother wouldn't be glad about that? But he didn't _want_ to be protected. That wasn't the point. It was simply the reason everyone thought he'd joined, and the indignity rankled.

He sighed and put down his pen. He was sure that, in the end, he would write his mother the letter she wanted to receive, but he couldn't do it yet. He left his desk and went outside. His squadmates were all making use of their free time not by writing to their mothers but by being anywhere but here. He was perfectly capable of going elsewhere, too.

It was late afternoon. In another hour or two, the sun would sink behind the walls. Marlowe walked in straight lines down the streets he was most familiar with. He couldn't keep the irritation from his steps, which were stiff and measured, but quick. The tension between the truth and what he was supposed to say tugged at him, a constant irritant. That wasn't to say that he wasn't keeping an eye on his surroundings. Too many members of the military--the Survey Corps aside--were too soft and inattentive. No one could afford that, especially not after the fall of Wall Maria. What were they thinking? Not even Stohess was truly safe. But it wasn't only the titans. The loss of so much territory had displaced many, increasing poverty and hunger and, by association, crime. His own comrades did nothing! More interested in lining their own pockets than protecting the peace. Marlowe wasn't like that. No, there was no laxity in _his_ life.

Before he realized what he was doing, the stroll he'd decided to take during his free time had turned into a patrol. He scanned the streets with vigilance, turning now onto the less frequented, darker side streets. It was in one of these that he was startled by a small form suddenly bolting from a doorway, with a woman following, her voice sharp with alarm. Marlowe didn't need to wonder what was going on. The scene was familiar enough, and the woman's words only proved it. "Thief!" she shouted, following the word with a string of expletives he didn't bother contemplating. Marlowe didn't hesitate. He raced after the criminal.

The thief was quick, but Marlowe was skilled and well-trained, and no criminal would have expected to have been pursued so assiduously by the military police. Marlowe was shortly closing his hand on the arm of the culprit, pulling on it sharply. He didn't have his rifle with him. He was armed, yet he didn't see the need to wield his knife. His marks in hand to hand combat had been among the best. "Stop."

Dark eyes glared up at him, and Marlowe glared back, although he was surprised to find those eyes staring from such a youthful face. The young woman he was holding was more of a girl, and clearly furious with him. If he was anyone else, she probably would have spit at him or bit him, but she'd taken in the sight of the unicorn patches on his uniform jacket. She held back, even as hostility burned in her eyes. "I believe you've stolen something," said Marlowe, unintimidated.

After a hesitation, the girl pulled a small, cloth bag from inside her coat and held it out to him. "Show me what's in it," Marlowe said. "Slowly." He didn't let go of her arm, but he let her move her hand. She carefully opened the bag, revealing what lay within. It was jewelry. Cheap jewelry, even Marlowe could see that, but it could probably earn her a few coins, if she knew where to sell it. "Good. Now hand it to me," he instructed her calmly.

"Why do you care?" she asked, and her voice, too, was young, although there was a hardness to it that made him frown.

"Because I do. Give it to me."

"Fine." She shoved it into his free hand, and he quickly slipped it into his own pocket. "You'll probably just keep it," she sniffed.

Marlowe frowned. He knew why she was saying that, but that didn't mean he had to like it. "Young lady," he said, "I will not. I am going to return it to its rightful owner, as soon as possible."

She blinked. Her anger didn't fade, but it was cut by confusion for an instant. "What for?"

"Because it's the right thing to do. Stealing is forbidden within the walls, and I am upholding the law." Criminals were growing bolder by the year, it seemed, slipping into people's homes to rob them before the sun had set. The sad thing was that so few people were there to keep the streets safe that many of them probably got away with it, especially in the less wealthy areas, where people couldn't afford private guards.

"You gonna arrest me?" the girl asked, worry showing in her eyes after listening to Marlowe's brief speech.

Marlowe considered this. No, his superiors didn't care about justice. They'd laugh in his face for apprehending someone for stealing a few pieces of inexpensive jewelry. Either the girl would be mistreated, or they'd just let her go. There wasn't any point to arresting her. Yet Marlowe made a show of considering it before answering, "No. Not this time. You've returned the stolen goods, and no harm was done. But next time..." He trailed off in what he hoped was a threatening manner.

"You're weird," said the girl, which wasn't the cowed and respectful response he'd hoped for.

"No, I'm not."

"Yes, you are. Are you even in the MP?"

Marlowe could tell she was looking at the patch on his jacket, critically, as if suspicious of a fake. She had a narrow, lean face, and her eyes were hard and hungry. "Come with me," he said, pulling on her arm again.

"I wasn't doing nothing!" she protested, as if he hadn't just caught her in the act of stealing. She pulled back, but he tightened his grip.

The nearest shop was a small one. It sold a simple array of food: bread and vegetables and the odd cut of meat. Marlowe didn't even look at the meat. He couldn't afford it, but he paid for a few small rolls with one hand while holding on to the girl with his other. The shopkeeper stared but didn't offer any objections. He was getting his money, and he wasn't about to question the military police.

"This isn't because you stole," Marlowe explained, as he pulled the girl back out into the street and pressed the bag of rolls into her hand. "It's because of your promise to me to be a good citizen."

"I didn't promise," sulked the girl, but now it was Marlowe's turn to glare. He gazed down at her steadily until she finally relented. Maybe the feel of the soft bread beneath the paper had something to do with it, but Marlowe liked to think that it had largely been due to his imposing presence.

"I promise!" she huffed. "You really are weird. Weirdo."

"Then I'll let you go." She was only a child. She probably wouldn't become a good citizen, but she was on the verge of starvation. Maybe setting a good example would mean something, he thought, as he loosened his grip. She bolted, clutching the bag of bread to her chest. It was probably a wasted effort. Fortunately, no one would know what he'd done. He'd been foolish. Yet, as he returned the stolen jewelry, he was surprised by the gratitude in the victim's eyes. She gazed at those cheap trinkets as if they were real gold and jewels. "My husband gave me these," she said in a voice that probably gave away more than she intended it to. Many people had lost a great deal in the past few years. Marlowe didn't have any words of comfort to offer her, but she seemed not to need them, her hands tightening around the small items until they must have pressed into her palms.

When Marlowe returned to his quarters, he sat down at his desk with a frown. He took up his pen again, thanking his mother for her letter and inquiring after the health of the rest of the family. He told her he was doing fine. He decided not to mention the thief girl, or the older woman with tears in her eyes. _These are hard times,_ he wrote instead, _even in Stohess, but I still believe justice can prevail._


End file.
